


I Won't Be Home For Christmas

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Queen One-Shots [13]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, alluding to sex in some toilets, stuck in an airport on christmas eve, you know just because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: Stuck at JFK on Christmas eve, you find one particular way of amusing yourself.





	I Won't Be Home For Christmas

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you muttered. You smacked your useless return ticket against the service desk, waiting for answers.

“It’s bloody Christmas eve, you can’t possibly do this,” another voice called out from behind you.

A gaggle of disgruntled travellers joined in, voicing their disgust. How dare they cancel this many flights on Christmas eve. How dare it snow on Christmas eve.

“I’m sorry,” the woman behind the desk said. “There will be no flights out of the airport tonight. The weather is too bad for anything to leave. Make yourselves comfortable and we’ll see that you’re all accommodated in the morning.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your suitcase in resignation. You were stuck at JFK on Christmas Eve, completely alone. Best of all, there was nothing else to do but break the disappointing news to your family. Trudging over to the payphones, you fed all the spare coins in your pocket into the telephone. Then you dialled your mother’s phone number. A pang of disappointment cut through your insides as her voice cracked over the line. “Hello?”

“Mum?”

“Hello darling! How was your trip?” She sounded so pleased to hear from you.

“It was fine. Listen, mum…”

“And did you meet anyone out there?”

“Mum?”

“Yes dear?”

“Listen, my flight’s cancelled. I won’t be home until late tomorrow night. Nothing’s leaving JFK.”

Your mum sounded heartbroken. “That’s awful darling. Are you doing alright for money?”

“Everything’s fine,” you said, choking back tears. You tried to muster what little cheer you had in you. “I’m sorry I won’t be home for Christmas dinner. Save some for me, will you. Tell dad not to eat all the sprouts.” 

Your mum was resolute, though, “we’ll have it on Boxing Day then. Can’t have you missing out after being away for so long.”

“That sounds perfect.” You smiled, pressing your head into the divider between your’s and the next phone.

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, mum.”

The line went dead as the person next to you slammed down their receiver. 

“Fucking hell.”

You looked to your right. A scrawny looking bloke with shaggy hair stamped his foot impatiently. He searched the terminal for something to do. No less than five suitcases lay at his feet. Hands on his hips.

“Well this is a load of bollocks,” he muttered, turning his attention to you, “don’t you think?”

You stood up straight and wiped the tears from your eyes. “It’s a complete nightmare.”

“Well I don’t know about you but…” the man paused, reaching into a tan leather messenger bag, slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a bottle of scotch, shaking it in the air. “This is my plan for this evening. I’m happy to share.”

“Suppose I could go for one,” you shrugged.

The pair of you wrestled with his bags. Finding a quiet corner of the terminal, you threw them on the ground, and then yourselves among them. You shared introductions and he cracked open the bottle. He handed it to you to take the first, large swig.

“So, Roger,” you said, the whisky burning your throat, “what are you upto this far from home on Christmas eve?”

He scowled, taking a drink. “Rock and roll. Debauchery.” He sprawled himself on to his side. "You?"

“Work.”

“Fuck. Well that sounds boring,” he remarked. 

“It’s not so bad,” you said, taking another gulp, “three months bed and board. I can’t complain.”

“And what do you usually get up to at Christmas?” Roger slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He leaned over, placing one between your lips and lighting it. 

You took a drag and exhaled, closing your eyes. You leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Family stuff. Lots of food. Crap telly. Anything other than this.”

Roger nodded looking at you. “I can think of worse ways to spend Christmas eve.”

You turned your head to face him. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you get to spend Christmas eve with this,” he said, waving a hand over his body.

Your laughter echoed through the departure lounge, earning you both disapproving looks. You were the only people on the floor, openly drinking after all.

He gave you a wink. “And with any luck, I could get you bumped to first class so there’s that.”

“I guess going to have to pay for that.”

Roger giggled, slapping his hand against your thigh. “Not at all, I’m taking the night off.”

You threw your hands up, the alcohol finally hitting your system. “Listen, if that’s what you want, I’m happy to.”

Roger’s ears seemed to prick up with those words. “Is that right?” he asked, grinning. He leaned in close to you, his breath was warm against your neck. “And how are we going to go about that, with all these people watching us, darling?”

You turned to him, nose to nose, close enough to kiss. But you didn’t. You fixed your eyes on the ladies’ room on the opposite side of the lounge. “There’s toilets over there. Give me five minutes and meet me in there.”

“Ok,” he whispered, kissing you quickly.

You hauled yourself to your feet, earning you a smack on the behind from Roger. 

“Off you trot, darling!”


End file.
